Crystobell I
by chittavrtti
Summary: Within the realm of Peake many creatures are possible. Crystobell is one. Solitude is another. And castles will keep.
1. Chapter 1

Amidst a towering crumble of stone emerges a form, a silhouette, a grimy crustacean which might have possessed a certain charm if it had not moved. Unfortunately it did. And thus began a rapid descent from a certain charm bequeathed to gargoyles eroded, corroded, pitted and pockmarked by time into quaint representatives of an ignorant antiquated milieu; to the common everyday grotesque.

Such opinions did not matter to scampering Crystobell; though upon closer inspection its horny hide and crooked limbs bore very little similarity to the clawed, cloistered, chitin armored creatures of the briny deep other than in cousinly fashion. Though well used to the transfigured expressions that unceasingly occurred upon the faces of its viewers, as it had been for some time just such delightful emotive responses which Crystobell had deliberately encouraged: standing solitary, mute, somber -a basilisk sentinel, aged and weary, steadfast and unflinching: thus stirring hidden and deep seated romantic longings coursing within the soul of the viewer for a purer and more noble time however phantasmagoric. Yet in a blink, with the slightest twist in expression, the merest droop in position and all the wisdom and knowledge contained within the expression of the reliquary became subtly depraved, it leered, mocking such sentimental drivel now worming not singing its way through the onlookers being.

However, such responses now bored it; Time to seek better entertainment.

shhhh...cuuuhshhhh...cuuuh The sound Crystobell made on its journey was that of sand slithering over itself along precipices, sandpaper joints grainily showering bits into chasms, becoming a vast sand-fall, funneling downward only to rise again in clouds of dust and grit.

Crystobell paused for a moment - a susurration of sand filling and settling into the bottom of a beaten pail. Eyes slid from one slanted corner to the other, then continued limb over limb, inserting slender joints into crevices as a hook insinuates itself into the gills of a fish, then slipped them out again, silkily.

Once more a pause, as a slender tongue curved briefly over a protruding jagged tooth, before the creature slipped over a few crinkled crenellations and scuttled into the castle proper.


	2. Chapter 2

Solitude paced, brooded, glowered, shrugged. Pettishly showering dust upon sumptuous draperies thus wreaking havoc among the fiefdoms of mites; Festooning corridors with mold and lacing windows with spider spun castoffs; Solitude sought serenity and located the entry to ennui. Banging shutters and rusting hinges did little to alleviate the suffocation of boredom and so Solitude continued to creep throughout the castle.

Coming upon a door with a once proud, now tenuous connection to an ancient arboreal cousin, a connection that could be dimly traced within its knotty surface, Solitude paused. The knots, or rather knot, spread from an off center midpoint sending out ripples of woodiness which extended beyond the portals edges seeming to clasp the frame as in a clinging embrace. In reverse fashion it resembled the enfoldment of petals.

Solitude stretched, extended, inched a gnarled finger out from within age bitten sleeves to trace this curious whorl. Curious too were the garments of solitude. Not garments but cocoons. Not cocoons more the skeletal remains of leaves fancifully threaded together with spider spit and caterpillar casings. Layer upon layer had been carefully added to, in this way marking the passage of time in Solitude's realm. If such were a true and accurate representation than Solitude had existed, subsisted, persisted with unfathomable tenacity.

Solitude to all outward observation was a shambling pile of castoff vegetal detritus. Crisp crackles were punctuated by whispering slithers and dry husked mutters. Yet underneath the layers of desiccated autumnal funereal fashion lay a moist, green and glistening promise of something more. Whether this something more boded of decay or fruition was at present unknown.

Sighing, Solitude withdrew her finger, her spider limb, away from the static whorl. Shivering slightly she prepared to continue her wanderings then froze. A crack appeared. Dry flesh peeled. Someone had entered her domain at last.


	3. Chapter 3

Shelter from the storm is all he sought. Really. Nothing more. But, if he had had the opportunity to choose the shelter provided it would not have been this. Really. It was not that he was too good for such surroundings. No, no nothing of the sort. Excuse him as he loosens his collar. It is just that well he really, no really, didn't want to impose. He nods, yes, that's it. Didn't want to impose; to bother; to disturb.

Too late. Been disturbed. For quite some time now couldn't he tell? Oh that's right. New here wasn't he? Oh that's alright. Learn in time. Nothing but time here so hurry up come in, come in. Don't stand on formality. Don't stand and drip. And whatever you do: don't stand on my toes. Thank you. Now then, where shall we keep him?

Him?

Him.

In the pantry?

In the cupboard?

In the chandelier?

The chandelier! Oh that's right. Sorry. Chandelier's dusty. He might be allergic Well then…. 

The well?

No not the well! What would the fish think?

Now then follow me.

Who? He is thoroughly lost though he hasn't taken a step. Really.

Who he asks?

Who indeed?

Muffled sniggers.

Her that's who!

As he follows her out there wafts from behind him the faintest whisper: Well, if that's what the wind blew over what do you think the cat will drag in? 


	4. Chapter 4

Critic 1: Well, well, well, such an interesting cast of characters have been presented for our perusal: Crystobell, Solitude, and He.

Critic 2: (sniffs) I hardly think sketches can be qualified as characters

Critic 2: Well, for wont of another noun, character will do, don't you think? (hastily) Leaving your response aside for the moment: (airily) Oh do not worry, I am interested in your reply. Only, I wish to follow my current wend of thought first.

Critic 2: (searches waistcoat pocket for snuff box)

Critic 1: Now then, here we are on the verge of a scene so intriguing. Picture if you will, or rather, allow me to paint it for you: a barren land from which arises an imposing and forsaken structure that is beset with bleak darkness and the fury of nature…what? Did you mutter something? Dark and Stormy something or other did you say? Tish-tosh. As I was saying, within this crenellated crescendo of architectural morosity, lingers a beauteous feminine sprite whose lithe figure and gentle whimsy have caused two stalwart examples of masculinity to brave her fortress of……

Critic 2: (sneezes violently)

Critic 1: sigh Well it would be rather good wouldn't it? After all, if an armchair bound English woman could convince us of a loathsome Italian monk why couldn't…oh alright let's see what happens next.

Crystobell: Nothing up my sleeve and….. (curtain opens)


	5. Chapter 5

_Credulous cretins. Incongruous imbeciles Nullifying nincompoops_. _One!_

Yes?

_Where's two?_

Dampening the sheets.

_Hmmm, and three?_

Crusting the cobwebs

_Fine. See if you can find four._

Four?

_Four._

One shuffled uneasily before deciding that time spent in mazelike activity hunting for the invisible was much more pleasant then facing an irate Mistress. Besides, four might turn up while one was away. So one nodded cheerfully and scurried off.

Fleet footed four was presently occupied in observing the castle's latest arrival; though to describe four as fleet footed was not, strictly speaking, accurate. Fleece footed might be more to the point. Perhaps even flea footed. While Mistress might be inclined to say flee footed. All terms were correct depending upon ones, not Ones, perspective. One would much rather not be involved thank you very much.

Clinging to a crevice four watched as Crystobell crept cautiously through the castles begrimed passageways. Four admired Crystobell's graceful lurches as first one then another bit of masonry came crashing down. Crystobell on the other hand was beginning to wonder of posturing upon the keeps empyric heights might not be preferable to exploring its decaying and deadly interior.

_Crr-r-i-i-c-k_ …. Crystobell leaped for the passageways exit as an overhanging light fixture admitted defeat and resigned its tenuous attachment to the roof to plummet in a final crescendo of coloured glass and ornate embellishments.

Four chittered delightedly. Oh. She would love these dazzling bits and four hurried to gather them. Thus one found four a few minutes later busily sorting the chandeliers remnants into fetching displays of diamante, Crystobell all but forgotten.

Noticing ones presence four said knowingly, "Not dusty, dangerous."

One nodded solemnly and replied, "We need to visit the Fish."


	6. Chapter 6

Two passing Wits

Two: Ho there! Bobby Watson, i'nit?

Three: What? Bobby what, Son?

Two: Not what son. Watson. Which Watson are you?

Three: Witch son?

Two: No. Which Watson not witch son

Three: Oh.

Two: So?

Three: Sew?

Two: Yes. So which Watson?

Three: Sew a witch what son?

Two: What?

Three: Right. What should I sew the witch, son. I must say. I am surprised that you can tell that I'm a tailor.

Two: A Taylor?

Three: No a tailor.

Two: Oh a tal-er.

Three: No a tailor!

Two: A tail-er?

Three: Oh now that's a good one

Two: (pleased) You think so?

Three: Rather!

Two: Think Cat would like it?

Three: He might. Mistress wouldn't that's for sure

Two: You're right there, but she doesn't like much does she? It's hard to tell with Cat though.

Three: Say where is Cat?

Two: Dunno, haven't seen him in ages.

Three: Well that's not good….

Two: Well it's not bad….

Three: And if it's not bad….

Two and Three: It's a bit of alright!!

Laughing giddily Two and Three first cha-cha-ed then fandango-ed their way along the corridor and then, with a whirl and a toss that would make any top to toe double wide shouldered jitterbug daddio turn green with envy and fear, they disappeared; plummeting into the depths of the Keep's dumbwaiter.


End file.
